


an expressive man

by smug_albatross



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Venatori, dorian is pining, the inquisitor is incapable of being straightforward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 13:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18942169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smug_albatross/pseuds/smug_albatross
Summary: The Inquisitor is not an expressive man, and that fascinates Dorian Pavus.





	an expressive man

The Inquisitor is not an expressive man.  
  
He is a handsome one, Dorian will readily admit that - though not so handsome as Dorian, he'll stipulate. That's to be expected, however - there's really no competing with perfection. But expressive? No, not particularly.  
  
A thinning of the lips, a furrow of the brow. They're standing in front of a corpse, strung up and mutilated, but the Inquisitor's expression barely changes. "This way," he says, and they follow.  
  
They always follow. Cole with his daggers and his whispers and his clumsy kindness, Cassandra with her shield and her sword arm and the aura of disgust she wears like a second set of armor. And Dorian, with magic and cleverness and no small amount of wrath.  
  
The Inquisitor is not a wrathful man.  
  
Dorian knows little of his past - only that he was a troublesome Circle member, shipped off to Kirkwall at the age of twelve. He thinks there might be a family, somewhere - he overheard Josephine mentioning them once. The Trevelyans. The Inquisitor has mentioned his sister once, his parents never.  
  
And yet he says Cullen's name without rancor and speaks kindly (if sternly) to the Templars in Skyhold - and in Haven, before. He always sides with the mages, of course, and he gets on terribly with Vivienne. But he is always calm, composed, refined - even in combat, drenched in blood and demon ichor, there is such steadiness to him - when he looks at Dorian, Dorian feels as though he could drown in the Inquisitor's gaze.  
  
They are in the Exalted Plains, hunting down the last of the Venatori parties Dorian had tracked. Dorian has never been here before. Neither have Cole or Cassandra. Neither, as far as Dorian knows, has the Inquisitor. Not that you'd know it from the confidence in his stride.  
  
The Freemen are a nuisance. Cassandra plucks an arrow out of her armor. "Sometimes, I wonder if they realize there was a hole in the sky."  
  
"I doubt it," Dorian says cheerfully. "They don't seem like the cloud-gazing types."  
  
Cassandra scoffs, which is nothing new. The Inquisitor chuckles, which is.  
  
Dorian is delighted, and only partially because it's a delightful chuckle. "He _does_ have a sense of humor."  
  
That, unfortunately, does not warrant a response. But Dorian catches sight of a bit of a smile on the Inquisitor's face as he turns back to the path ahead. He doesn't press his luck, but he carries a sense of satisfaction with him as they march on to the Venatori camp.  
  
The Inquisitor has a knack for finding things.  
  
Dorian holds back a sigh as the Inquisitor is distracted by the sight of a great stone statue of a wolf, sunken into a hollow of the earth. But his frustration turns to surprise as the Inquisitor finds a blocked passage and marks it on the map - to be cleared for the resources behind.  
  
"Remarkable," Dorian says because he is incapable of not saying. "You have a true talent for uncovering dirty little secrets."  
  
Cassandra scoffs. The Inquisitor does not laugh, but he's wearing that same small, lopsided smile.

* * *

 

There were only supposed to be three Venatori, but instead, there are nine.  
  
Cassandra is a bulwark against the storm. Cole is - somewhere - and the Inquisitor -  
  
The Inquisitor is the storm.  
  
Lightning crackles from his staff, scorching the ground in front of him as fire roars at his feet. He whirls around the battlefield, matching the spellcasters strike for strike as Cassandra cleaves through their warriors. Flickers of ghostly green herald Cole's path as he darts across the clearing. Dorian calls spirits to his aid and adds his fire to the Inquisitors, but his role is to maintain the party's barriers.  
  
He does it well. Very well.  
  
But, unfortunately, not well enough.  
  
When his own barriers flicker and die, he is too focused on keeping the Inquisitor safe that he does not see the archer until it is too late and there is an arrow sticking out of his chest.  
  
As darkness swallows his vision, the Veil is ripped open and there is a horrible, vengeful scream.  
  
It sounds strangely like his name.

* * *

Waking up is a surprise.  
  
Dorian is wrung out and aching all over, but it’s far better than being dead and really, he’s had hangovers that are comparable to this so it can’t be that bad.  
  
Especially since he’s being held by a _beautiful_ man. Especially since that beautiful man happens to be _the Inquisitor_. Really, if he weren’t already on the ground he’d swoon. _Swoon_.  
  
The Inquisitor is not an expressive man, but the way he holds Dorian - cradling him, almost - with his hands glowing green with a revival spell and the way the muscles in his jaw jump all spell out a picture that Dorian doesn’t know what to do with.  
  
Then he looks into the Inquisitor's eyes and his breath is taken away.  
  
The Inquisitor’s eyes are the same dark blue as the sea, and just as deep and unfathomable. Now, though, they are damp with unshed tears and their steady tides have been replaced by storms.  
  
Dorian knows he is the cause of this, and it both thrills and terrifies him.  
  
“You’re awake.” The Inquisitor sounds relieved. (Of course, he ought to be, the loss of Dorian Pavus would be an international tragedy -)  
  
A tear falls from the Inquisitor’s eyes and traces its way down his cheek. Dorian reaches out without thinking and wipes it away. He imagines the Inquisitor leans into the touch but puts it down to wishful thinking as Cassandra helps him to his feet. Cole is hovering nearby, murmuring words that Dorian could probably understand if he cared to try. He doesn’t.  
  
The Inquisitor passes him a healing potion. Dorian drinks it, letting the foul taste distract him from all the confusing events of the last few minutes.  
  
Actually -  
  
“Did the sun change position when I wasn’t looking?” Dorian asks, frowning at the sky.  
  
“You were out for a while,” the Inquisitor says. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t wake.”  
  
Dorian shoots him a _look_ , but the Inquisitor’s back is turned and the effect is entirely wasted. “You were worried about me?”  
  
“Of course I was.” There’s a hint of humor to the Inquisitor’s voice now and oh, Dorian can just see the smirk on his face. His beautiful, stupid face. “Where else am I going to find a Tevinter necromancer who’s actually _willing_ to help me?”  
  
Dorian spends the entire walk back to camp trying to puzzle out exactly what the emphasis on _willing_ implies and succeeds only in worsening his headache.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are my lifeblood.
> 
> If you like this, drop by my tumblr @smug-albatross where I post writing and memes.


End file.
